Endless Moment
by maboroshi-hime
Summary: Sequel to Mr Elric. It's obvious now that the community of Hogwarts wants a piece of Mr Elric, be it knowledge or attention. Ed's privacy is further invaded when forces beyond his control insist on contact with The Boy Who Lived.
1. Consequences of Failure

**Fandom:** Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter  
**Title:** Endless Moment  
**Part:** 01?  
**Genre:** General/Drama  
**Rating:** PG13  
**Warning:** Crossover  
**Spoilers:** FMA episode 51; HP book 5  
**Summary: ** Sequel to **Mr. Elric**.

**Chapter 01: Consequences of Failure**

He had failed.

One night, right after dinner, the students were ushered out and the doors of the Great Halls were barred. No one had noticed a certain vertically-challenged person slip in swiftly before the doors slammed shut.

They didn't think much of it- perhaps the house elves were doing the annual cleaning before the other schoolchildren returned from Christmas. Whatever reasons their creative minds came up with, there was no reason to be overly suspicious of anything.

But that night, there was no avoiding that frightful seize of energy emitted from the Great Hall that night. Hermione dropped her Arithmancy book and Neville fell clean off the couch. Naturally, those who felt it, basically everyone, rushed to investigate. All they saw was Professor Snape carry out a tarp covered figure dripping liberal amounts of blood- which was promptly removed by Professor Flitwick- all the way to the hospital wing. Then they had to scurry back to their houses, for Professor McGonagall threatened the loss of many house points should she catch them out of their common rooms after hours.

The next day, Mr. Elric was found to be missing from his usual station amidst the paper and books. Two and two together equates wild and groundless rumors. And in situations as such, it wasn't exactly helpful that over half the school would return the day after, just in time to catch and spread the aforementioned wild and groundless rumors.

"Mr. Elric, you know..."

"..blood- lots of blood, there was."

"Yea, he had to be carried out. No, I don't know how he is, Pavarti."

But since nothing was confirmed and they dared not ask the Professors for fear of being the victim of the Evil Eye, anticipation levels rose ever so higher.

---

"Edward? ED!"

He was numb. He couldn't see or feel anything, but he was pretty damn sure that if he could, his left leg- or what remained of it- would be causing him massive pain.

"Ed," someone touched his forehead, "Sind Sie wach? Are you awake?"

"...Hohenheim?"

There was a sigh of relief. "What happened?"

Suddenly, Ed was overcome with the desire to laugh, loud and hard. "It was different," he said, feeling quite air headed from the anesthetic. "The Gate was different." A hoarse laugh ripped out of his throat. Then another, followed quickly by another until his entire body racked with laughter that eventually transitioned into dry, tearless sobs.

"What happened?" Hohenheim asked again, this time quieter, more subdued.

"Do you remember the first time I saw the Gate?" Ed babbled. "My head was stuffed with so much information I though I'd die?"

"Yes."

"This Gate is different," Ed repeated for the umpteenth time with sudden coherency. "It wants other things. This one requires more than just ability. This is the gate of Wizards so it wants magical abilities. Since wizards channel their energy through wands and my kind of magic probably isn't compatible, it did the same thing it did before and threw me back-" here, he broke off and the tears flowed freely.

Hohenheim put his head in his hands and sighed heavily. This was no supposed to happen. This was not the point of Edward coming here. To have this sort of outcome after all the blood, sweat, and tears...

"Go to sleep, Edward." he said softly, allowing the Nurse to replace the bandages around Ed's eyes. "Go to sleep mein Sohn." My son.

---

He was escorted back to the fireplace from whence he came by the Headmaster himself. The halls were empty, but as he passed through, there was a nagging presence in the corner but when he looked, no one was there.

"We managed to recover his arm." Dumbledore was saying, "but Edward lost his left leg from the knee down and his sight was damaged. We'll do what we can for his eyes, but he may have to wear glasses for the rest of his life. Also," they stopped in front of the blazing fire. "I would like to ask for your consent on Edward remaining here." There were deeper meaning behind his words and both of them knew it.

"Edward can decide for himself." Hohenheim said, tossing a handful of powder into the flames. "Thank you for informing me of what happened.

Then he was gone.

---

The one major thing that bothered Hohenheim at the moment was that Edward had said this Gate wanted 'other things'. What else did it take? He already lost the leg of flesh his little brother so painstakingly returned to him, he nearly lost his eyesight altogether; was that enough to satisfy this Gate, which may or may not operate on Equivalent Trade?

It wasn't until he returned to his house in Deutschland did it hit him. During his entire visit, Ed did not graze the subject of Amestris.

Was it possible? Could this Gate have taken from him his will to return home?

---

_es gibt keinen Gott._

There is no God.


	2. Job Opportunities

**Fandom:** Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter  
**Title:** Endless Moment  
**Part:** 02?  
**Genre:** General/Drama  
**Rating:** PG13  
**Warning:** Crossover  
**Spoilers:** FMA episode 51; HP book 5  
**Summary: ** Sequel to **Mr. Elric**.

**Chapter 02: Job Opportunities**

Albus waited a week before presenting Edward with the idea of him remaining at Hogwarts, partly because he, as an alchemist, wanted to know more of Edward's world. The main reason, though, was that he simply wanted the boy's safe return. Of course, the numerous inquiries followed by The Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly's new poster boy's now avoidable disappearance had nothing to do with it.

He was sitting up in the hospital bed getting acquainted with his new leg and spectacles when the Headmaster visited. "How are you doing?" Dumbledore asked.

"I've been worse," came his honest reply as Ed squinted experimentally. "Good morning sir. Or is it the afternoon?"

"It's nine in the morning." Dumbledore glanced at the large mound of chocolate on the bedside table. "I suppose you'll be auctioning those off as well?" Ed looked rather sheepish, but nodded. There was a pregnant pause. Finally, Dumbledore spoke, "Madame Pince is returning in three days."

Ed was silent for a moment. Then, he scratched his head and said quietly, "I'll be out in three days."

"No," Dumbledore said quickly, "This is not a cue for you to leave. The other professors and I have discussed this; we would like for you to stay here as a teacher's aide so you can continue your research."

Here, Edward's eyes dimmed. "I'm not-"

"You will," interrupted Dumbledore firmly. "Also, you could pick up on some talents while you're still here." And should you truly be trapped here for the rest of your life, you would at least have a trade to go by. Once a person enters the magical world, it's near impossible to leave.

"...Alright."

Dumbledore smiled. His skills of persuasion were, thankfully, still in tact when he needed it. Their first order of business would be getting Edward a wand.

---

They only neglected getting him a wand because Edward's job was only supposed to be a short term assignment. But now that it turned to be the exact opposite...

So it was the afternoon of three days later that Mr. Ollivander of Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wand since 382 B.C. came trotting to Hogwarts by floo, lugging a tape measure and wand case after wand case.

"Hold out your wand arm- no, the other one." he said, arching a brow at his subject's unusual arm, but saying nothing. "Try this one, Maplewood, 29 centimeters, unicorn hair- go on, give it a wave."

It was like holding a regular piece of wood shaped like a twig, nothing happened. Then, it was snatched from his hand and replaced with another made with phoenix feathers and other materials he didn't catch. Finally, after trying out what seemed like the hundredth wand, Mr. Ollivander pulled out a particularly dusty box from the bottom of the heap. Still, nothing happened.

"Mr. Elric," he began as he started cleaning the mess and magicking wands back in their respective containers, "I try to fit my customers with their best match in wands. The ones you have tried out- all 57 of them- contain the most basic materials a wand can be constructed of. The last one you tried is, shall we say, the most versatile of all. Any person with the slightest potential of becoming a wizard should've caused at least some reaction. You, did not. I am not questioning your abilities, whatever they may be that convinced Albus you could be trusted in a magical environment, however, based on what we've seen, you have not an ounce of magic in your system.

---

"So, what now?" asked Ed after the misty gray-eyed eccentric had left.

"It's alright." Dumbledore replied. "I anticipated this. Tell me, Edward, can you still perform alchemy?"

"Yes."

"Have you attempted since the incident?"

"...yes."

"Excellent. Minerva teaches Transfigurations- a brand of magic used to turn one object into another- our form of alchemy. Perhaps you could become an observer in her class. You need not talk about alchemy at all except to a class of select honor students. And the library is still open to you at any time, as it always was.

Edward was silent.

"Take as much time as you need to consider this." Dumbledore said, rising to leave. "You are still in control of your own life."

Just when he reached the door, a voice behind him said clearly, "I'll do it."


	3. Suspicion and Speculation

**Fandom:** Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter  
**Title:** Endless Moment  
**Part:** 03?  
**Genre:** General/Drama  
**Rating:** PG13  
**Warning:** Crossover  
**Spoilers:** FMA episode 51; HP book 5  
**Summary: ** Sequel to **Mr. Elric**.

**Chapter 03: Suspicion and Speculation**

The day Hermione came back from Christmas vacation was the day the Hogwarts Rumor Mill caught on fire.

They were on the Hogwarts Express when the 'news' reached them. She was, both unluckily and foolishly, sitting in the compartment consisting mostly of M.E.S.S. members when Pavarti caught sight of the owl outside the window, desperate to keep up with the train's speed. Shortly after reading the contents of the letter it was bearing along with a few other girls, they let out a shrill scream and fainted. Or pretend fainted, rather, seeing how they revived and got back up seconds later.

"Mr. Elric's in the hospital!" Pavarti shrieked to the rest of the girls, who did their own versions of 'The Faint' and 'The Scream', each more dramatic than the last.

Disgusted, Hermione left. Even sitting with Luna Lovegood, who was going through the phase of wearing Venus flytraps as hats, sounded like heaven compared to this. The lamenting continued all the rest of the way, and even the usual airy and surreal Luna was showing signs of annoyance.

Ironically, the moment they reached Hogwarts, the wailing ceased. 'I knew it was all for show.' Hermione thought as she and Luna exchanged a dark look, temporarily forging a connection between heaven and earth. She had no problem with Mr. Elric being at Hogwarts- she was actually quite fond of him, but the fact that every single action of his prompted squeals of starry-eyed happiness made her wish he'd never come here at all. She could still remember the day Lavender found out his first name and began trilling it in every single language, accent, and melody imaginable.

Harry and Ron were waiting in the common room, set to pounce.

"I know." Hermione said crossly as she entered, halting the two boys. "I know. The M.E.S.S. people made a big deal on the way here and I'm really quite tired so if-" She caught sight of their faces. "What is it?"

"There was a man who came here on the night of the 'accident'." Ron said slowly. "He looked like... like..." He gulped and threw a look at Harry.

"He looked like.. no, he was that man in the book you found on Nicholas Flamel."

"That's impossible," she replied immediately. "That photograph was taken in 1922. There's no way- you must've seen wrong."

"We got a clear view of his face when he came out of the hospital wing," Harry said seriously. "There's no doubt at all." Hermione looked carefully from Ron's face to Harry's. It wasn't possible, but for some reason, she believed them.

"What do we do now?" Ron finally asked.

"...I still trust in Professor Dumbledore." Hermione said firmly. "If he allows Mr. Elric to stay here, then he must be on our side- what was that, Ron?" And Ron, who coughed out a word sounding suspiciously like 'Quirrell' (or was it 'Lockhart'?) then denied making any noise at all.

---

For the next few days, rumors flew rampant around the school. Surprisingly, one of the most popular ones (no doubt spread by the Slytherins) was that Mr. Elric was, in fact, a squib who attempted to obtain magic through more unorthodox means only to have it go horribly wrong. Another was that he was doing an extremely complicated and powerful spell for some or another reason that was yet to come to light and it, too, went horribly wrong. As a matter of fact, the only thing any of them had in common was that 'it went horribly wrong and landed him in the hospital'.

After a week's time, after Madame Pince's return, imagine the Gryffindor sixth year class's surprise when they walked in to Transfigurations to see a familiar sight in the corner.

"Mr. Elric!" The M.E.S.S. girls squealed immediately only to be silenced by the full force of the Holy Golden Eyes and McGonagall's patronizing gaze.

"Take your seats, Patil, Brown." McGonagall said sharply before addressing the rest of the class. "Explain the 'fair use' of dragon scales."

As a matter of fact, all through class, Mr. Elric's presence was more or less ignored except by the ones who kept shifting uncomfortably in their seats and throwing occasional glances at the back table. The only time McGonagall acknowledged his existence was at the end of the lesson, after the bell had rung. She approached him and they vaguely heard her ask him "did you understand the lesson?" before they were whisked away by the incoming traffic.

---

That, if possible, spread even faster than the news that he was in the hospital. "Mr. Elric's the new Transfigurations teacher!" and "DAMN! I don't have him until-" were heard regularly around Hogwarts that day.

"He isn't exactly a professor." Hermione said crossly as giggling continued to erupt from all sides of the hallway. "He isn't teaching anything. Honestly, can't they leave the poor man alone?"

"I remember a certain someone being in love with a professor four years ago." teased Harry. "What's the difference now?"

"The difference is," Hermione replied, rather red in the face, "that Professor Lockhart reveled in the attention. Mr. Elric does not- you really must see Madame Pomfrey about that cough of yours, Ron." They pushed open the doors of the Great Hall and found a surprise waiting for them.

Mr. Elric was seated comfortably with the professors at the front table- quite strange seeing how he's never eaten dinner with the rest of the school before. Once again, Dumbledore made no special announcement about Mr. Elric and dinner commenced as usual. All in all, it was a very ordinary day. If you asked any of the teachers, they would say that all the drama occurring were only in the students' heads. There was nothing going on, nothing at all.


	4. Transfigurations

**Fandom:** Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter  
**Title:** Endless Moment  
**Part:** 04?  
**Genre:** General/Drama  
**Rating:** PG13  
**Warning:** Crossover  
**Spoilers:** FMA episode 51; HP book 5  
**Summary: ** Sequel to **Mr. Elric**.

**Chapter 04: Transfigurations**

Gates are like thieves, they're known only to take and never do they return. Whether it is a tangible object or sentimental feeling, it steals without looking back.

Even so, ever since passing to Hogwarts, Ed has been able to alchemize, an ability he cannot remember losing and the ability he cannot remember gaining back. What was the battery providing the energy for the alchemy? The dead souls of another distant plane he'd have to pass before he reached home? And what would happen when he reached the final Gate of his destination? Would the energy to pass through that particular Gate come from the inhabitants beyond? Would he unknowingly sacrifice the life of someone dear to him? Winry? Al? That bastard colonel?

Since these questions could not be given a complete and satisfactory answer, Ed could only speculate. But theorizing without experimentation in a situation where experimentation was impossible is worthless. How many times was he willing to try? How many times would he get away with his life? How many times would he have to give up his arm?

There was definitely a way home to Amestris, that wasn't the issue at hand. Whether he had the strength to summon up the will to find that path, however, was questionable.

---

The class of Transfigurations, mused McGonagall, has somewhat soared in popularity. And she was quite sure that sudden advance in curriculum (headed by Dumbledore and herself) had nothing to do with it.

She has never actually seen Edward's form of alchemy or Edward try sorcery at all (she doubts anyone has, save perhaps Dumbledore) and despite her obligatory curiosity, she refuses to push for it. She was certain that some people, students mostly, wanted to see Mr. Elric in action and Mr. Elric teaching a class but there was no way she would heap that sort of responsibility on a boy not older than seventeen.

"Miss Norrings," she said crossly, careful to put just the right amount of discipline for a bumbling second-year, "the class is in this direction." The aforementioned Miss Norrings reddened and turned in the correct direction, setting an efficient example for the other heads of the classroom, which would otherwise remain backwards as well.

In the younger classes, he's a distraction, she thought with feigned exasperation. But she didn't mind, not really.

---

'He's doing it again,' wrote Ron on the Messager Paper- ("Let paper be your messenger! Your words erase instantly should anyone else get their grubby little paws on it and ideal for passing stationary notes in class! Available only in short range distances and manufactured only by Fred and George Weasley- 1 galleon a hundred, 12 galleon a thousand. Limited time only"). 'You think he's writing transcripts or something.'

'He's probably just writing a letter to a girlfriend or something,' Harry scrawled back.

'Both of you look up,' came Hermione's neat, legible letters. 'And Ron, McGonagall's coming in your direc-'

"Passing notes again, Mr. Weasley?" The words disappeared the second it was snatched from its owner. "I'll take those as well," McGonagall said, nodding to Harry and Hermione.

'Damn,' thought Ron. 'That's the fifth time this week'

---

He could not leave Hogwarts and rejoin the 'muggle' world. Somewhere between seeing a block of wood become a grand piano and McGonagall's lecture that strictly forbade such practices, Ed realized that, because of his returned alchemy, that should he decide to leave, the consequences would be dire. After all, a Gate that returned something as you crossed through would surely take much more should you try and go back. These children were most likely exempt from the rule for no reason other than their ignorance.

Ed does not understand this world and he readily admits that. What kind of Gate would allow a world that wasn't scientific in anyway to the extremes where an animal could become a household object? The only conceivable answer was a completely lacking in logic, so he refused to push on lest he be further distracted from his task.

He hated this existence that forced him to grasp for straws like a blind man. Before, it had been his salvation and now it was his curse.

---

This new arm was in no way comparable to automail. It certainly allowed greater mobility than that plastic one from Germany (which did nothing more than take a form of the missing limb), but the simplest of tasks, like holding a pencil and grasping a book, were beyond its abilities.

Also, there was a sudden, constant temptation to pull his sleeve down and look at his handiwork. The material was not rust-proof and Madam Pomfrey had not the knowledge of Winry or Auntie Pinako, but still. Being able to construct an artificial arm from memory after so many years and numerous opportunities of memory loss was something to be proud of, right?

In fact, it was at that very moment, when he was inspecting the gears on his wrist with his cuff unbuttoned that he ran straight into a person.

"Oomph!"

It was a redhead boy, the one always getting caught passing notes in class.

Flustered, Ed was apologizing profusely when he noticed the boy's eyes travel downward and rest on his wrist. Swiftly catching and yanking the cuff under his glove, Ed apologized again and hurried off.

He was pretty sure that the redhead- Wesley, was it?- had seen the remnants of his inerasable sin.


	5. Pensieve

**Fandom:** Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter  
**Title:** Endless Moment  
**Part:** 05?  
**Genre:** General/Drama  
**Rating:** PG13  
**Warning:** Crossover  
**Spoilers:** FMA episode 51; HP book 5  
**Summary: ** Sequel to **Mr. Elric**.

**Chapter 05: Pensieve**

"What is that?"

"What does it look like?"

"A bowl."

"It will remain a bowl only if you do not use it. This, Edward," said Dumbledore, "is a pensieve."

"Why would I need a pensieve?"

"You came to me a few days ago about your problems concerning memory loss. Do you not remember?" Ed raised a brow- he had no such recollection. "As I thought. I believe your mind is subconsciously filtering your thoughts. The wisdom and learning you obtain through books are stored, but the less important details of your life, what you had for breakfast for example, are not. It is my theory that over time, your memories from your distant past, your homeland for example, will also be affected. One day, you could become the embodiment of knowledge and know all there is to know but having no idea what your purpose is."

A moment of silence. "But I can't use a pensieve," said Ed. "I have no wand."

"I know," said Dumbledore. "I will operate it for you, you need only to learn how to enter and how to leave." He continued, "I merely thought it was best to store your memories while they are still intact and before they begin to decay. Whether you wish to use it or not is your decision." Ed was silent only long enough to instill a feeling of hesitation but his eventual answer was yes.

A memory extraction is the oddest feeling in the world. There's the slight tap of wood on your forehead, then a cool film gathers at the point of the tap and when the wand pulls away, the material is released and it breaks out but never breaks the skin. He managed to catch a fleeting glance at the extraction, an airy, silvery wisp of hair-like substance that liquefied the moment it hit the bowl. By the time Dumbledore was done, the bottom of the previously empty stone bowl was covered with a metallic formula like melted steel that swirled endlessly.

"Shall we?"

---

Suddenly, Ed was back in Rizenbul on the night he and Al burned down their house and eerily enough, there was his little eleven-year-old self far off in the distance beyond the hill. A chill ran down his spine. He blinked, and he was back onboard the train - a phantom spectator to his fight with Bard. Again, and he was passed out, drunk, on the night they liberated Youswell.

"These," said a voice in his ear startling him, "are only memories. We cannot hope to change them, we can only learn from them."

He and Al were on the floor of Hohenheim's study talking excitedly about the plans they were making when their mother came back. He was playing in the snow with Nina and Alexander. He was ushered into the room at the Fifth Laboratory full of Red Stones as Tucker loomed nearby. That first time (of many times) sensei had slammed him into a tree. That time he murdered Sloth. So many memories, he was practically reliving his life. He wanted to stay in this fake universe, this stone pensieve, forever. It'd be like watching a film, one that covered every detail of the seventeen years he spent in Amestris. It'd be like he was home again...

A hand clamped down on his should and he was suddenly yanked back with enough force to land him on the back of his skull but when his mind stilled, his face was mere centimeters away from the bowl. He was still in Dumbledore's office and the images in the pensieve that had entranced him so faded back into the light silvery liquid.

"That's quite enough for today, Edward." said Dumbledore. And before he could protest, " If I had left you to your own devices, you'd still be in that pensieve, wouldn't you, Edward? I know you want to go back but remember that time in this place passes as it always does. You've been in that pensieve for quite a while now and it really isn't healthy for your body to go without food for more than five hours, don't you agree?"

"Yes sir."

"To leave the pensieve, all you need to is point up and say "Out". There's a much more efficient method, but for now, it'll do. Just remember that to leave the pensieve, you must want to, otherwise, you'll forever be in need of another's assistance to pull you back from the pensieve."

Ed nodded. "I understand."

"Very well then, Edward." Said Dumbledore, almost briskly, "You can come here anytime to see your pensieve- they're your memories after all. The password is 'toffee humbugs' and you'll be notified if it should change."

"Yes sir." Ed headed toward the entrance, fully intent on leaving before stopping. "And sir?"

"Yes, Edward?"

"Thank you very much, sir."

---

"You said he had a metal arm!"

"Keep it down, Harry!" Ron hissed, looking around in alarm. Luckily, the common room was packed and most everyone was absorbed in their own conversation and chattering.

"You said his arm was metal?" Harry asked again, lowering his voice significantly.

"That's right," replied Ron, throwing his friend a look. "Why should it matter?"

"Oh, come now," said Harry rather snappishly. "Who else in the world do we know of that has a fake arm?"

"Who?"

"WORMTAIL!" He shouted loudly as he could without arousing unwanted attention.

"Wormtail?" asked Hermione, a look of surprise dawning on her face. "Wormtail has an metal arm?"

And it was at that moment that Harry Potter realized that keeping everything that happened on That Night a secret from his friends wasn't the brightest idea he'd ever had. "On the night Volde- He came back, he needed the 'flesh of a faithful servant' or something. Wormtail sliced off his arm and when He was resurrected, he gave Wormtail a new arm. A silver one."

Ron paled, as did Hermione. "You think," Ron said slowly, "that Mr. Elric is-"

"Before the two of you get too far ahead of yourselves, I beg you both to remember who runs this schools and who hires the teachers." Hermione interrupted. "Dumbledore wouldn't allow Wormtail at this school under any possible circumstance, you know that." Color was returning to her cheeks. "Also," said she, "are you certain that Wormtail had a metal arm like Ron said?"

Harry and Ron stopped at the unwelcome dose of logic and reason. He had to admit that even if his eyes were hazy and if Ron needed glasses, it would be a long shot to call Wormtail's silver arm a metal one. After a moment's pause, Harry stood from the squishy leather armchair and headed for the portrait hole. "Where are you going?"

"The library," he said. "I need to do that paper on How to Theoretically Counter Higher Leveled Jinxes and Curses for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Don't worry, Hermione," he added, "Professor Edinburgh gave me a pass, and I'm allowed out of bed until about two in the morning."

"A pass out of bed for an extra three hours?" she asked incredulously.

"Right. I guess he really wants me to finish this thing. I'll be back."

"Y'know," Ron said after Harry had left, "If you look past the fact that Edinburgh's an old, moldy ("Ron!"), and boring, he's not that bad of a guy. Letting Harry Potter out after bed's practically encouraging mischief, see?"

---

As Harry had dreaded, there was a light in the library. He wasn't afraid of Madame Pince doubting the validity of the note, he was just afraid of Madame Pince. There was no way she would allow him alone with her precious books (especially since she had decided that the bit of porn that knocked her into a six-month vacation was set there by the sixth years). So the next few hours would probably be spent in awkward silence as he trudged from bookshelf to bookshelf, her hawk-like beady eyes following his every movement, sending cold chills down his spine. And he'd never get any work done.

Surprisingly enough, she wasn't sitting at the front desk or anywhere near the vicinity of the light. And because we all know what curiosity did to the cat, Harry followed the direction of the light and found himself facing the back of a sleeping Mr. Elric.

Ron was right. Up close, he did look exceptionally like a woman.


	6. Unintentional Intrusion

**Fandom:** Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter  
**Title:** Endless Moment  
**Part:** 06?  
**Genre:** General/Drama  
**Rating:** PG13  
**Warning:** Crossover  
**Spoilers:** FMA episode 51; HP book 5  
**Summary: ** Sequel to **Mr. Elric**.

**Chapter 06: Unintentional Intrusion**

Trying to keep silent while sneaking around a library at the dead of night was a surprisingly difficult task, as Harry soon found out. Who knew books (of all things) could be so _noisy_?

Nevertheless, Mr. Elric slept on, disturbingly quiet, disturbingly dead.

Despite his previous concerns, Harry managed to complete most of the paper in two of the three hours. Of course, he'd needed more than just the bare facts to obtain a decent grade, but what he had was more than enough to scrap by on. Somewhere between writing how to theoretically overcome the irresistible sleeping curse and researching the magical properties of the higher-leveled Shield Charm, Mr. Elric woke up.

There was a soft shuffling noise and then the lantern's light shifted, moving closer to the aisle where Harry was. A moment later, Mr. Elric walked past, yawning, shoulders hunched, books in hand, and looking like he hasn't slept in an extremely long time; quite discerning considering that he just woke up.

Suddenly, the footsteps stopped and Mr. Elric's head came back into view, squinting at him like he was seeing Harry for the first time. Then, he raised a finger, pointed it, and asked:

"Are you supposed to be here?"

"Uh, yes," replied Harry, reaching for his pocket. "I have a pass from Professor Edinburgh."

Mr. Elric waved it aside without bothering to take a look. He made a step, as if to leave, but stopped and turned back.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm writing a paper for Defense Against the Dark Arts- 'How to Theoretically Counter Higher Leveled Jinxes and Curses'?"

"Ah, yes, I noticed a lot of people coming in here for that." He was telling the truth. There had been a swell in the number of sixth-years since Professor Edinburgh had announced the series of long-term essays that, when totaled up, would count for 51 of the final written examination.

Mr. Elric moved to leave again, just as Harry's eyes drew over to the hand holding the lantern. "Sir, if I may be so bold.. if I may ask- never mind."

"_Nein_. Go ahead."

"I.. your arm. If I may ask, what happened to your arm?"

Whatever question he'd been expecting, it surely wasn't that.

"What happened to my arm?" Mr. Elric repeated slowly, unconsciously reaching for and gripping the mentioned object. He took a deep breath and for a moment, it looked as if he was going to say something. But when he exhaled, he said only: "Some things are better left to the imagination. Good night, mister...?"

"Potter."

"Potter." Then, with a slight nod of the head, Mr. Elric left.

_He isn't really much older than the rest of us._

---

The next day (after turning in his three-hour-essay), Harry decided to pay a visit to the Headmaster. Usually, he preferred to dig for information on his own terms, but Dumbledore had told him explicitly, at the beginning of the term, to come to him _before_ he did any 'research' and Harry decided to honor it, at least once.

Just as Harry opened his mouth to say the password, the gargoyle sprang aside and Mr. Elric stepped out of the Headmaster's office, looking more frazzled than ever before. There was an awkward moment of silence before Mr. Elric bowed slightly and walked off.

Funny, those were his exact actions from the night before.

Harry walked into Dumbledore's office to find that the headmaster wasn't in- yet again. He did notice, however an eerie glow emitting from behind the desk. One step further revealed that it was a pensieve, just recently activated.

_Was it his...?_

There was only one course of action from that point on.

---

The second he regained his balance from diving in headfirst, an ear-splitting scream pierced his ears.

_What in the world?_

Two boys, one easily presumed to be the child Mr. Elric, was kneeled on the ground, reaching for the arm of the other. To Harry's utmost horror, it seemed as if the body of the child-who-was-not-Mr. Elric was being ripped apart millions of little hands extending from a floating doorway.

"ARUUUUUU! ARUUUU!"

Thunder crackled overhead and whether it was the lightning from the outside or the radiance from the inside, a sudden, brilliant whiteness caused it so that keeping his eyes open was an exceedingly painful task. When Harry's temporary blindness wore off, the child Mr. Elric was missing a leg. A leg? No, it should have been his arm, shouldn't it? The child crawled over to a great suit of armor, mumbling to himself in some foreign language, dipped a finger in his own blood and drew something on the back of the armor.

There was another flash of light, though nothing as extreme as the previous. The armor twitched. No, it was his eyes playing tricks on him. Wait, the armor did- it was moving! And the child's arm; it was nothing but a bleeding stump! When did that happen?

Harry had never seen magic like that. What _was_ this place?

---

In the next moment, there was pain; excruciating, unimaginable pain. It felt worse than even the Cruciatus Curse because the pain wasn't bodily, it was all in his head, like someone had split it open and was hacking away incessantly at the remains. Events flashed through his head, historical events. He was seeing the universe's birth from the beginning to the end, living the life of every last person on the planet in an incomprehensible speed. A true out of body experience; he couldn't even hear his own screams of pain.

When he came to, a decidedly older Mr. Elric was on the floor of the ballroom, now panting heavily. Even Harry himself was breathless on the floor. That last experience was agonizing, and he was only a mere observer. Why was Mr. Elric so intent on dwelling over _that_ memory?

Harry lifted his head only when movement occurred. Mr. Elric had taken off, hurling himself at a skimpily-dressed woman (was it a man?) in dreadlocks. She- no, he- no, _it_ merely laughed and avoided his every kick and punch with ease. Suddenly, it changed its form, again and again, using a very advanced transformation that put Tonk's to shame.

Somehow, Mr. Elric ended up on the creature's stomach, punching it in the face repeatedly as its face changed, yelling out something, yet again, in that strange foreign language. In a pause, the creature's face became a man, tanned face with blond hair. Nothing extraordinary, but something about this particular form caused Mr. Elric to rear back in horror.

A malicious smile crossed the shape-shifter's face.

'_NO! Look out!_'

And in the next instant, he was hurtling back through that place again, screaming silently as mounds and heaps of _everything_ was shoved mercilessly in his head. He felt like he was going to die, he felt like his brain slowly seperating from his spine, and he was going to-

Suddenly, a hand clamped around his shoulder and he was pulled back, out of the pensieve, and onto the hard floor.

"It is not wise, nor is it very polite to enter one's pensieve without permission, Mr. Potter."

It was Dumbledore, and he was smiling.

"Sir!" Harry swallowed. "I'm sorry, but there wasn't anyone in here and... and I, I didn't mean to-"

"It's quite alright." Dumbledore said genially. "I'm not the one you need to explain your actions to." Harry opened his mouth, but Dumbledore went on. "However, I am leaving it up to you whether or not you wish to reveal to Mr. Elric the effects of your- shall we say, curiosity? Otherwise, I trust you received the answers you were looking for, correct?"

"Y-yes sir."

"Wonderful." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Was there something you wanted to ask me?"

"No, sir." Harry replied quietly. "Nothing."


	7. Talk To Me

**Fandom:** Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter  
**Title:** Endless Moments  
**Part:** 07?  
**Genre:** General/Drama  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warning:** Crossover  
**Spoilers:** Up to FMA Episode 51; HP Book 5  
**Summary: **Sequel to 'Mr. Elric'.

**Chapter 07: Talk to Me**

And then came the ever-complicated dilemma of deciding the next course of action.

Past experience dictated that he should confess to Ron and Hermione on what he did and then listening and _following_ the advice they gave rather than acting out on his own. Under these circumstances, however, Harry found that it was not something he could do easily. It resembled the situation last year when he poked his nose in Snape's worst memory and found a pair of grey knickers waiting at the end; the fact that he had not been reprimanded this time around only served to make him feel all the guiltier.

Harry bent further over his notes as Professor Edinburgh droned on, not daring to look toward the back though Mr. Elric was most definitely not in the classroom. He had no idea how he could last Transfigurations if this continued.

"...and it seems that the young Mr. Potter finds the tabletop more interesting than our flame-proofing spell. Are lines of wood more amusing than a spell that could potentially save your life, Mr. Potter?"

"No sir." Harry replied, ignoring questioning looks all around him. "Sorry sir."

"Quite alright, Mr. Potter; see me after class."

Harry sighed and sank into his seat as the Professor tossed a pinch of feverfew in the air. This was turning into a fine day indeed. Still, he did not dare to look over his shoulders.

---

When class ended, after everybody shuffled out, Harry reluctantly dragged himself up to the head desk.

"Is something the matter, Harry? Had enough sleep last night?" Professor Edinburgh had a twinkle in his eyes, one more calculating than kindly as Dumbledore's was. Harry mumbled a response. "What was that?"

"I said-"

"Of course," Professor Edinburgh leaned back in his chair and put the palms of his hands together, that calculating look still present in his eyes. "That boy's an odd one. Do you find him odd, Harry?"

"That boy?"

"Hmm? Ah, I suppose you youngsters have to refer to him respectfully even if he's only so much older than the lot of you. His official age is only nineteen, you know."

Harry's forehead wrinkled in surprise. "Isn't he a little young to be a staff member then, professor?"

"Of course. There was something or another- a deal with Headmaster Dumbledore privy only to the two of them, you see. Not even the teachers know much about it."

Harry was silent as he digested the information. "Then wouldn't-"

"Well now, dear me, I've spoken too much. And will you look at the time! I've kept you after class for too long- Professor McGonagall will have my head served up on a platter for dinner tonight." Professor Edinburgh chuckled to himself. "Run along to class now, Harry, and be quick with it. Do remember to try and not let your mind wander so much after today, alright now? Yes?"

"Yes sir."

As Harry exited the classroom, Professor Edinburgh's voice called out to him once again. "Your essay on theoretically countering higher level jinxes and curses is admirable, Mr. Potter. Would you be interested in writing another to bump your grade up further?" Harry was about to decline when suddenly, he remembered that he had Transfigurations next.

"What topic, professor?"

---

Harry had half a mind to confess the details of his little breach of privacy to Mr. Elric that night, but to his disappointment, he was no where to be found. Instead, it was the familiar glare of doom from Madame Pince that greeted him when he walked in at closing time. He finished the essay in a little less than an hour and there was no more talk between him and Professor Edinburgh concerning their little chat the day before.

His conscience ate at him mercilessly, prodding a constant thorn in his side whenever one of Mr. Elric's fangirls entered the Common Room giggling like they'd been hexed with a laughing charm gone wrong. It wasn't so much the fact that he had no way of receiving penance as it was the fact that he stumbled upon something he _knew_ he was not suppose to see, and his overwhelming desire to find out the truth didn't do much to help.

He finally decided not to tell Ron and Hermione, not until he had asked Mr. Elric himself. It was the least he could do.

---

The next day, at lunchtime, instead of following the usual current of people trodding toward the Great Hall, Harry headed in the direction of the library. He found Mr. Elric sitting at one of the dustier tables of the library.

"Mr. Elric?" A bespectacled pair of eyes met his. "There's something I need to tell you."

"Is this about your research in my past or is it something else?" Harry took an involuntary step back, startled. Mr. Elric continued quietly, "Does the magical world have etiquette on looking up other people's lives or do they normally just take a quick glance whenever they feel like?"

"N-no. I mean, I mean... how did you know?"

"I always leave off at a certain point so I'd know when someone other than myself," here, he gave Harry a pointed look, "has taken a look. At least Headmaster Dumbledore makes an effort to conceal his presence."

"Professor Dumbledore has...too?"

"Yes."

Harry took a deep breath. "If I may ask, what does it all mean?"

Mr. Elric stared at him steadily. "Why do you want to know?"

"I was... I still am curious."

Mr. Elric's face darkened. "It's not something you need to know simply because you're 'curious'," he said sharply.

"I still want to know."

Mr. Elric did not speak for a very long time. Finally, he said, "Who do you think you are?"

After a moment hesitation, Harry opened his mouth, "I'm-"

"I know who _you_ are," Mr. Elric interrupted, waving his hands almost impatiently. "You don't spend five months in a library and not know the significance of the name Harry Potter." His eyes flickered to Harry's forehead and Harry flinched. "Tell me who_you_ think you are and I'll consider telling you what it all means." Mr. Elric turned back to his book.

'Who do _I_ think I am.' Harry did not move nor did he speak. He just stood there and thought for a while. The sound of hustle and bustle from the direction of the Great Hall signaled the end of lunch, but he remained where he was. The hallways were cleared and silent and he stood in the same spot, thinking.

"I am Harry Potter," he said finally, unable to come up with a more decent reply. "That's all. I'm just Harry."

Mr. Elric turned around slowly and for a moment, he simply stared at Harry. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Mr. Elric burst into a smile. "Maybe I'll tell you something after all." Then, he jerked his head toward the nearby grandfather clock. "You'll be late for your next class if you stay here any longer."

"Can't you write me a pass?" Harry asked automatically, willing himself not to think of the many reasons why Snape would unfairly have him put in detention.

Mr. Elric smiled again, this time a slower one. "Come back if you need one."

As Harry was leaving, he heard Mr. Elric call out to him. "By the way," he said, "I'm Ed."

---

Harry exited the library, hungry, but feeling infinitely lighter as if the proverbial weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had been 'forgiven' and the relief he felt was unexplainable. Harry dashed into Potions and took his seat just as Snape began to talk.

_Where were you at lunch?_ Ron immediately inquired via Messager Paper.

_I was in the library._ Harry wrote back.

_Library? Why were you in the library?_ Hermione's words scrawled in response.

_I was talking to Mr. Elric._

_Talking? He talks?_

_Don't be ridiculous, Ron, of course he talks! We've all heard him ask those silly girls in his fan club to be quiet._

_I know he -speaks- Hermione; I just didn't know one could -converse- with him. You know? Like a -normal- human being?_

_What are all those -dashes- suppose to mean, Ron?_

_You know what they mean. CAPPING words take too long._

_Tell me when the two of you are done flirting with each other._

_Flirt with -her-?_

_We're NOT flirting._

_Why don't the two of you get married and get it over with?_

"What's this?" Harry had a split second notice before Snape snatched up the bit of Messager paper. His Messager paper was apparently a bit stale, for the words obviously didn't fade fast enough and Snape's sardonic smile widened. "Well, now." Snape drawled, "it appears that Weasley and Granger are getting married." The Slytherin side of the room burst into hoots of trained laughter. "Perhaps the two lovebirds can spend your honeymoon in detention. You too, Potter."

To Harry's surprise, Ron and Hermione brushed the detention aside as if it were nothing and continued to make faces at each other behind Snape's back.

You'd think they'd be tired of each other after spending all of Christmas break writing letters.

---

"So what did you and Mr. Elric talk about?" asked Hermione, cringing as she sliced a neat line down the middle of the horned toad's upturned stomach.

Harry opened his mouth, but then he remembered. "Can't tell you."

"See, you can't do that Harry." Ron said, looking a bit green in the face as he tossed the hearts and bowels into their respective barrels. "You can't have us going to detention and cutting up dead animals for Snape just to tell us that you can't tell us."

"We're in detention because the two of you were writing so fast even _Snape_ knew you weren't taking notes." Ron made a little noise of protest immediately drowned out by Hermione.

"Why would you need to talk to Mr. Elric at all, Harry?" she asked. "Did you do something you're not telling us?"

"Er... you could say that."

"Fine, don't tell us what the two of you talked about," Hermione said, almost smugly, "just tell us what you did."

Harry opened his mouth again, this time to object, and realized, with grim horror, that Hermione had him trapped. Of course, he could just say nothing, but he had a feeling that they'd badger him ceaselessly until he spilled. It must have been that talk with Mrs. Weasley at the start of the year- the one about friends not keeping secrets from one another.

"I won't say what we talked about," he said cautiously, careful of any potential slip of the tongue. "But I kind of... looked in his pensieve."

"You what!"

"Harry!" The reaction was as expected. "Harry, that's very bad! There are_rules_ about these things! If you're a good, decent wizard, you don't use the Unforgivable Curses, you don't backtalk to your mother, and you don't go looking in another person's pensieve without permission!" At that point, Harry decided to neglect mentioning that he's never been in a stone bowl of floating memories _with_ consent from its owner.

Hermione took a deep breath as she stuck the tip of the blade in the last of the horned toads. "So that's why you needed to talk to him- I can see why. What'd he say? Was he mad?"

"Er... he wasn't really mad." Harry said. "He was just sort of... annoyed, I guess." Among other stuff.

"I see. What else did the two of you talk about?"

"We didn't really talk about anything." Harry admitted as he rinsed off the heart and handed it to Ron, unwittingly answering the question he had been so careful to avoid. "But he said he might tell me something, so that's better than nothing."

"That was still a rotten thing to do." Ron declared, clapping a lid on the last jar to put into storage. "Now can we please leave? I think I'm going to be sick."

---

He was insane. He was utterly mad. He had lost his mind and it was only a matter of time before he completely lost himself. By then, it'd be too late to return home, no hope in seeing Al again.

Ed had never before experienced complete isolation. Whenever he suffered a loss, he always had someone to be there for him. When he lost his father, it was his mother. When he lost his mother, there was Al. When Al nearly died, there was Winry and reluctant as he was to admit it, the Colonel had been there too. He had always had a companion, someone to keep him from losing his mind.

Now, _here_, in this place, there was no one. His father was cursed and rotted at a terrifying rate whenever he came near Hogwarts and Ed could not bring himself to trust Albus Dumbledore even though he had been nothing but a jolly old man since Ed's arrival.

Maybe this was why he tolerated that boy for defiling what was considered to be an unbendable rule in the wizarding book of manners. Maybe that was why he nearly threw himself at an offer to tell someone who didn't want or need to know everything, everything. Maybe that was why he told him his name.

He leaned out the window of the Astronomy tower, breathed in, and exhaled, suddenly feeling very, very old. He had no recollection of his time in Germany after he had traveled to Transylvania and while he was still a teenager in appearance and mind, he felt old, like an old man who woke up one day in the body of his younger self. He may look and sound as he was, but there's that corner of his mind never quite forgets the creaks and aches of overused bones.

A sudden tapping noise woke Ed from his stupor and he glanced down to see an obviously flustered owl tapping incessantly at him, not realizing that the right hand was a fake. He immediately relieved the creature of its letter and patted it apologetically with his human hand, which the owl accepted before flying off once again.

The contents of the letter was as follows:

_Edward:_

_Would you care for tea? I am thinking Saturday morning at eleven.  
Hope to see you._

_- Professor V.N. Edinburgh_

T . B . C

No, I didn't stop writing this story- my apologies for the delay. I've been... a little busy.

Just a note: Edinburgh was the place where Alexander Graham Bell and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle were born, and more importantly, it's also where J.K. Rowling wrote her first novel. I thought that was interesting when I was researching the name via the Wikipedia.

I said this before in the last chapter but some of you seem to be confused so I'll reiterate. This story takes place in Harry Potter's sixth year, but **will not include** any major spoilers from the Half-Blood Prince, though I hope everybody's already read it.

Thank you for all your kind reviews! Anyways, as usual, comments and criticism are adored. I hope you like the longer chapter(s) and I hope to update sooner than I usually do.

Have a Happy Halloween everybody!


	8. The Art of Playing a Gracious Host

**Fandom:** Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter  
**Title:** Endless Moments  
**Part:** 08?  
**Genre:** General/Drama  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warning:** Crossover  
**Spoilers:** Up to FMA Episode 51; HP Book 6  
**Summary: **Sequel to **'Mr**. **Elric'**.

**Chapter 08: The Art of Playing a Gracious Host**

Ed pondered at the letter in his hand curiously. The invitation itself had caught him off-guard; most of the teachers had respectfully kept their distance after The Incident. Except the Headmaster, of course, who had offered him peanut brittles yesterday after Ed emerged from the Pensieve.

He knew of a Professor Edinburgh, and vaguely recalled the bearded old man with squinty eyes whose classroom he passed every time he went to observe the students in Transfigurations. Ed did not have an opinion on the Professor, but everything he had overhead from grumbling students painted a portrait of someone with a lesson plan rivaling the excitement of watching bread mold.

Still, it would be downright rude of him, stated Basic Etiquette of the Modern Wizarding Society, to refuse anyone tea for frivolous reasons- a potential boring host being one of them.

Also, he decided, possibly offending anyone who lived in a world that operated regularly outside Equivalent Trade would not be a wise thing to do. And so, his mind unfortunately made up for him, Ed pocketed the piece of parchment and left the Astronomy Tower.

---

"I apologize if this sort of tea is not to your tastes." Professor Edinburgh said as the tea kettle began to whistle and steam. "I vacationed in Japan for some time- just before the start of this school year, actually, and my tastes have not favored Earl Grey since."

Ed nodded obligingly. Boring was not a very accurate word to describe him. True, the good Professor spoke with a hint of a drawl, and Ed supposed that it could cause sleepiness had he been in a classroom, but otherwise, Professor Edinburgh was not boring. They downed the first cup in silence and did not venture to speak until the third had been poured.

"You must be wondering why I asked you to meet with me even though we have never so much as spoken to each other before." Professor Edinburgh said, fixing Ed in a gaze with his beady little eyes. "Well, there's no reason to keep you waiting. I am terribly curious as to how your progress is."

Ed choked fantastically on his tea. "I'm sorry?" he coughed.

"Why, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that you're here on some... personal mission," the Professor said. "Spending all day in the library... not sparing any time for meals... unaware of your growing cult of admirers... the _event_ that occurred from a month ago- I say you've put too much effort into this little project of yours for it to be for anyone but yourself. In fact, if I didn't think any higher of Headmaster Dumbledore, I'd say that's how you weaseled your way into Hogwarts in the first place."

The color drained from Ed's face and it was a wonder he managed to keep his expression under control. Well, looking back now, he supposed he hadn't done a very clean job in disguising his activities. He hadn't really cared, after all, for anyone else's opinions. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, wary of the response.

"Is it true?" the Professor asked, leaning forward in excitement, as if he had been bursting to ask the question the entire time. "Are you a real alchemist?"

This time, the tea cup slipped from Ed's fingers and shattered on the floor with a crack.

"I don't mean to intrude," the Professor said as he bent forward to help Ed, who was retrieving the pieces with shaking hands, "but I helped clean up what you did in the Great Hall that night and... well, I've always been fascinated by the higher arts."

Ed deposited remnants of the cup into the tray, chills running down his spine as he did. From what he had read, alchemy itself was different in this world, less a branch of science and more a branch of... well, magic. In this world, an alchemist's sole purpose was the Philosopher's Stone, that and nothing else. The Philosopher's Stone itself was also different. Instead of amplifying its creator's original powers, it could turn metal into gold (which was not an incredible feat) and produce the Elixir of Life that granted immortality (which was a very incredible feat).

There have been very few recognized alchemists in this world; less than five. Nicholas Flamel, who had introduced him to Hogwarts, was one of them. Albus Dumbledore was another. The rest were loons who would eventually end up in the St. Mungo hospital, under a closed ward, and never be seen again.

"No, I'm not an alchemist." he finally said after he had collected his wits, which was true to some extent, seeing as he was no longer affiliated in any such way with the Philosopher's Stone.

"Well, then." The Professor looked disappointed. Ed couldn't blame him, but his image was a small price to pay for his privacy. "Nevertheless, I would still like to offer my assistance with... whatever it is that you are doing. Professor Dumbledore has not been gracious with information regarding your going-ons."

"I don't want- I mean... I don't need-"

"Don't feel a need to decide now," the Professor interrupted before Ed could finish his refusal. "I prefer my propositions to remain open, just in case. Would you like more tea?"

---

Their conversation became brief and awkward after that, and Ed was very thankful when he finally left. The corridors of the school were strangely empty as Ed made his way back up to the Library. He finally caught sight of a living soul as he rounded the stairs: Madam Pomfrey, leaning out the door of the hospital wing, wearing an irritable expression.

"Forgot to report for your weekly maintenance, Edward?" she asked, waving her wand almost threateningly.

"Ah..." It had completely slipped his mind. The appointment was usually at half-past-eleven and the clock behind the nurse indicated that it was well after noon. "Sorry."

Shaking her head, waving him in the clinic, and muttering all the while, she sat him down on one of the beds, Ed sensed, with an air of vexation. But her hands were gentle when they detached his arm.

"It's rusting at an alarming rate." Madam Pomfrey said, apparently perturbed. "The Anti-Corrosion Charm seems to have no effect whatsoever. I can't understand why, though..." Ed rubbed at the empty port as the nurse spoke, uncomfortably off-balance without the extra weight in his shoulder. "I'll have to clean it the traditional way."

She waved the wand once and the red disappeared to reveal the dull metal underneath. Then, waving it again, the arm lifted into the air and reinserted itself. Ed cringed as it snapped into place. Then, waving it for a third time, the pain subsided and he felt suddenly lightheaded.

"That should do it." Madam Pomfrey said approvingly. "Your leg looks fine, much better than your arm. But I suppose we could fix that too, while we're at it-"

A loud groan suddenly issued from outside the grounds, followed by what was undoubtedly wild, enthusiastic cheering.

"On second thought, perhaps later," she said, pursing her lips. "I'll bet someone's been hurt out there. Quidditch, you know?"

Ed nodded. That explained why the school was so eerily quiet on a Saturday morning.

"Now, I'm sending you back to your room," she said, resuming a more professional air as she shooed him out. "No more work today; you need bed rest. Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately? You've got the worst case of insomnia I've seen at Hogwarts in almost a decade years. I've cast a Numbing Charm, which should hold until the pain's gone. Here's a drought for a dreamless sleep, it's just enough for one night so mind you don't become dependant on it."

Ed accepted the tiny bottle with a quiet "_Danke_."

"If I catch you in the library, Edward Elric," she added severely as he left the ward, "I shall haul you in here for overnight rest faster than you can say 'no'."

---

"...you know?"

"You think..."

"He has been looking ill..."

The faint whispers from the lower end of the Gryffindor Table were, unfortunately, not quiet enough to escape the hearing range of Ron and Hermione. "They're right, you know." She said briskly, scooping a large spoonful of pudding onto her plate. "He has been looking more tired and sickly since we've got back from Christmas."

"Who's been looking more tired and sickly since Christmas?" Ginny asked as she joined them, nicking a chicken leg off Ron's plate and ignoring her brother's undignified squawk.

"Mr. Elric."

"Ah, he does look a lot worse than he did before Christmas."

"Girls- why're all of you so fascinated with him?" Ron asked scornfully through a mouthful of food. He gave Hermione a look. "You're sure you don't fancy him?"

She returned his scrutiny with a sharp glare of her own. "Yes, I'm _quite_ sure, thank you very much." she replied testily. "And even you have to admit he's the best looking and youngest and most _secretive_ of all the people Dumbledore's hired. And as I seem to recall, you had a bit of a crush on him back when you didn't know he was a boy."

Ron's cheeks colored. "I did not."

"Of course you didn't," Ginny said absentmindedly. "Hi, Harry."

"H'lo." Harry's expression was decidedly happy for one who had just gotten his face smashed in by a Bludger. Then again, he caught the Snitch anyway and after a ten-minute visit to Madam Pomfrey, you couldn't tell that he had broken his nose. "What's going on?"

"We were just talking about how you never told us what was inside Mr. Elric's pensieve." Ginny said matter-of-factly. Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione. _How did she know?_ They shrugged.

"So? Out with it. What'd you see?"

"Nothing," he said quickly.

"Harry... we're curious too, you know." Hermione said. "And you've never kept us in the dark so long before..."

The three of them gave him a Look.

"I don't believe this," Harry said indignantly. "You're the ones who told me off about sneaking a look in the first place! What's the difference between me telling you right now and you looking for yourself? I'd take the fall both ways. Forget it- if you're so curious, ask him yourself."

"We can't, though." Ginny said patiently, as if she was explaining logic to a very dull little boy. "You're probably the only person who knows anything about him- even if you weren't completely honest in finding it out. So... c'mon, now. What did you see?"

"I _can't_."

"Fine, then," Ginny huffed, and she turned her heel and left the Great Hall leaving the three of them staring after her.

"What's eating her?"

---

_"What do you mean they've cancelled the rocket program! Nicht annehmbar! It is unacceptable!"_

_"It is not our fault! Herr Elric, our Fuhrer is going to war! He has not time to-"_

_"That is not my concern! He promised funds- unless of course our revered Fuhrer is not a man of his word."_

_"It is treason to speak like that, I beg you to retract your words, sir."_

Ed awoke with a start. There it was, another dream from the missing gap in his memory. The last thing he remembered, after landing here from Amestris, was going on a train to visit Orville in Transylvania and then... he woke up in the 20th Century with Hohenheim wiping his feverish forehead with a damp rag. The dreams, which started around the time he arrived at Hogwarts, were becoming more and more frequent.

So he had wanted to build a rocket in a country with a Fuhrer...

Ed sat up in his bed and glanced out the window. It was twilight. A fire crackled in the hearth and the jacket he had thrown on the table in the adjacent room was folded neatly at the foot of his bed.

Amazing, magic was.

The hallways were illuminated by the moon as he crept out of his quarters and headed for the stairs. Sleeping for over ten hours, as much as it did for his overall well-being, also had the unpleasant effect of making him very, very hungry. And the staffroom could always be trusted to be stocked with food.

Somewhere near the staircase, he heard a rustling sound behind him but when he turned, the hall was empty.

"Who's there?" he asked sharply. Someone crept into view, swinging a lantern and wearing an expression of gleeful malice. It was the caretaker, Argus Filch, who was carrying a walking stick and followed by an equally filthy cat.

"Oh, it's only you, Mr. Elric." Filch said, not putting much effort into concealing his great disappointment that the person he had found was someone he had no authority over. "Seen anyone out of bed?"

"Only you."

The man's nose wrinkled in distaste and then, making an almost sarcastic bow, he slinked away, his cat at his heels. Ed waited until the man was far out of hearing range before speaking again, this time more quietly.

"You can come out now." When no one did, he added, "I can see your feet."

The mysterious visitor finally, with great reluctance, pulled of what appeared to be an Invisibility Cloak.

"That's the second time you've been caught out of bed, Harry Potter." Ed's eyes flickered downward. "Midnight snack?"

"You could say that," Harry replied, mustering as much dignity as he could while balancing two flasks in one hand, an assortment of meat pies in the other, and a rounded basket of bread on his head. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome," Ed said, resuming his trek toward the staffroom as his stomach gave a small grumble. "You'd better get to back to bed soon. I don't personally care, but I'm certain Mr. Filch would."

Harry was about to do just that when, suddenly, he remembered the peevish Ginny from earlier that day.

"Uh, sir," he started before Ed could get too far away, hoping that whatever came out of his mouth next wouldn't sound stupid. "I was wondering... well, your Pensieve... I mean... I want to-to talk about- sort of... er, please."

For what felt like an eternity, Ed stared at Harry Potter, feeling wrongfully amused. This situation reminded him greatly of all his visits to the Colonel, except that now, he was now the one with the upper-hand. For the first time, Ed felt something like a bond to Roy Mustang.

But upon reexamination, the mere idea of him resembling the Colonel in any conceivable way rather pissed him off. No, he would not be like the Colonel, who dangled every little bit of information just out of reach in exchange for a price. If this world operated outside of Equivalent Trade, then damn it, so would he. If he was lucky, it may even pay off in the future.

"Would you like to have tea with me, Harry Potter?"

"Really?" From the look on Harry's face, he probably expected another order to go to bed. He added, hopefully, "Can I bring a friend?"

"No." His shoulders sagged. Well, it was worth a shot.

"We're not allowed to talk in the library," Ed said. "My office is on the fourth floor, behind the suit of armor. Come whenever you want."

"Right, sir," Harry said, slipping the Invisibility Cloak back on and careful to sweep it over his feet before remembering his manners. "Thank you, sir."

It was only after Harry was safely back in the Common Room did he realize that Mr. Elric's room was located right where the Mirror of Erised had been, five years ago.

---

The next morning, Harry caught sight of Ginny on his way to Charms.

"Hullo Ginny," he called out. She returned the greeting with a smile, looking considerably more cheerful than she was the day before. "Do you remember," he began, deciding that caution was the best approach, "what you asked me in the Great Hall yesterday after Quidditch?"

"What in the world are you talking about?" Ginny asked. "I wasn't in the Great Hall yesterday after the match- I had detention, remember? We had to _negotiate_ so I could play in the match at all." She peered at Harry curiously. "How hard did that Bludger hit you anyway?"

Flabbergasted, Harry stammered out a "Not really" and waved weakly as she ducked into Muggle Studies. What in the world was going on?

---

"Mister Potter... oh, y'mean Harry?"

Ed nodded as Fang laid by Hagrid's feet, drooling. The great dog had become quite attached to him after the first time they met, when it decided that Ed's arm made an excellent chew toy.

"Aw, he's a good lad." Hagrid nodded. "Known 'im since he was young- delivered his acceptance letter m'self," he added.

"Really?" Ed nibbled at a slab of Hagrid's new-and-improved Treacle Tart. It no longer glued the consumer's tongue to the roofs of his mouth. "I've caught him out of bed at least twice times in this past week."

"He 'asn't got much talent fer followin' the rules." Hagrid said, chuckling. "But things usually work out better for 'im better when he don't." Ed said nothing. A bell rang in the distance, signaling the end of the school day, and he stood.

"I'd better get back." he said, brushing the crumbs off his lap. "Thank you for the tea."

"Anytime," Hagrid replied. "Come back whenever you need th' company."

Ed patted Fang on the head, gave Hagrid one last nod, and left the cabin.

This world, he thought as he approached the castle, everything in this world was about breaking rules. There was nothing scientific, nothing logical about it. This was like one of those fairytale lands Mother used to tell him about when he was young, which he had conveniently forgotten after her death. He was still yet to discover just why he could use alchemy. It made no _sense_.

He walked passed the staircase to Dumbledore's office without noticing, and when he finally became aware of his surroundings, his feet had carried him to the passage leading to his room. As he drew nearer, he heard a voice that grew consistently louder.

"Um... open! Lemon drop! Chocolate Humbug! Oh, come on, _open_!" A sharp clang rang out, followed by a slight grunt of pain.

"What in the world are you doing?"

Harry Potter inclined his head towards him, looking almost guilty. "I didn't know the password," he said, abashed.

"There is no password."

Ed strolled past him, observing with a twinge that Harry Potter was about five centimeters taller. He clapped his hands together and pressed them against the space next to the suit of armor. A familiar blue electricity crackled and when he drew away, a handle that had not been there before jutted out of the wall.

Pulling the handle and missing the drop of Harry's jaw, Ed beckoned him inside.

T . B . C

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. It's… longer.

I must stress again, **this story has spoilers all the way to the end of FMA, and** **will soon include spoilers from HP: HBP,** since this story _does_ take place in Harry Potter's sixth year. The warning is part of the header, but I thought I should bring it to light since I'm aware that some of you haven't seen the end of FMA or read HBP.

Another thing is that there will be **no pairings**. I think inserting romance would mess up the flow and I'm trying to concentrate more on the plot rather than who's with who.

Another Great Big Thanks to all my LJ friends who put up with all my questions. If anyone's interested, I uploaded the song that inspired the title (Endless Moment by W-inds) at my Livejournal, so **feel free to go and download**. It's located under entry 4872, or the EM: c08 post. Enjoy!

I will put the Reply feature to good use. Thank you all for your reviews and a Happy Holidays too!


	9. Conspiracy Theory

**Fandom:** Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter  
**Title:** Endless Moments  
**Part:** 09?  
**Genre:** General/Drama  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warning:** Crossover  
**Spoilers:** Up to FMA Episode 51; HP Book 6 (Maybe Book 7)  
**Summary:** Sequel to **'Mr**.**Elric'**.

**Chapter 09: Conspiracy Theory**

Of everything Harry had expected the esoteric and very mysterious Edward Elric's quarters to be, he had not guessed that it would be so...empty.

Professor Dumbledore had the collection of odd little instruments and gadgets befitting his image as a wizened, eccentric headmaster. Lockhart had the numerous self-portraits and gaudy tapestry worthy of his narcissistic nature. Even Harry, himself, had a modicum of personalization in the pitiful shelf space the Dursleys referred to has his bedroom. This dusty little apartment was not unlike a room in the Leaky Cauldron that had been cleaned out in a great hurry; it added more than it took away from the frustrating intrigue that was Edward Elric.

"Go on, have a seat," Edward said, tossing his overcoat toward the nearby wardrobe and motioning toward the table beside the fireplace. On the table stood a tea set, delicately crafted and brightly painted; wholly out of place in the otherwise austere setting. Harry sat and accepted the cup of tea when Edward offered, taking in as much of the setting as he could without showing his evident interest.

"Tell me about yourself," Edward said after the first sip. "If you do not mind, I would prefer to find out for myself whether or not you are the tragic hero your many biographers paint you out to be." Then, with a smidgen of humor: "It would be more distressing than touching if the great Chosen One was nothing more than an emotionally-deprived, attention-wanting brat described by one Miss Rita Skeeter."

"No, no, I'm not that. At least, I don't think...for sure, I'm not that," Harry replied, cheeks reddening slightly. "I've never spoken to any... well, I _haven't_ ever met any of my... biographers. And as for Rita Skeeter, well, she's a cow, you understand."

Edward chuckled. "The advantage of fame is being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little."

"I suppose," Harry replied. Then, abashed, he took a sip of his tea.

"What I want to know," Edward said, with a sudden quiet intensity, "is how trustworthy are you, Harry Potter?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply and as he did, he felt an odd sinking sensation in his stomach, as if the ground would open up and swallow him if he did not treat the question with absolute severity. Something about the way Edward's eyes pierced into his own demanded honesty. So he thought, carefully, of his own trustworthiness.

"More than most," he decided was an accurate reply.

After a second, Edward gave a nod of approval, and the feeling passed. A silence followed that lasted just long enough to be uncomfortable. When conversation resumed, the topics of choice were generic and harmless—they spoke of Quidditch, of food, of the weather, of Professor McGonagall's invisible third eye in the back of her head.

When the sunlight streaming in through a narrow slit in the wall began to darken from the late-evening red into a somber black, Harry excused himself, saying that "he didn't want to sneak out for a snack and get caught again".

Edward grinned. If Harry had taken notice, he might have remembered to correct the 'misperception' that he had a tendency toward rule-breaking. He did not, and left for the Great Hall where the rest of his evening was quiet and uneventful.

It wasn't until Harry flopped onto his bed in Gryffindor Tower did he realize that he knew no more about Mr. Edward Elric now than he did previously.

---

_I think I know what it wants, but what specifically, I do not. You know, that is why you can leave. Tell me if I am incorrect.  
- Ed_

---

"Harry Potter, Harry Potter!" Something was pulling incessantly on his leg. Harry made an indiscernible sound from the bottom of his throat and gave the offender a half-hearted kick. The tugging stopped, only for that something to suddenly jump onto his pillow and resume its effort in earnest, slapping his face and boxing his ears. "Harry Potter must wake up!"

Harry jerked up, knocking his attacker off the bed.

"Dobby!" Harry gasped, squinting at the watery-eyed house-elf, holding his swollen cheeks in one hand and scrambling for his glasses with the other. "What on earth is the matter with you?!"

"Oh, Harry Potter! Dobby is sorry. Dobby was worrying for Harry Potter," he squeaked, apparently blinking back tears of relief. "Dobby thought that Harry Potter was poisoned. Dobby was thinking that Harry Potter was," a choked sob, "_dead_."

The dormitory was deserted and it took Harry a second to comprehend why.

"It's a Saturday, Dobby," Harry sighed, massaging his face. "I haven't any classes today."

"No, no!" Dobby shook his head so hard his ears flopped. "Dobby hears Kreacher mumbling around the kitchen this morning, more than normal, sir, so Dobby hangs him over a pot of boiling water to release him only after he's told Dobby why!"

"Dobby-"

"Kreacher says he puts something in your drink," Dobby shrilled. "He says he knows not what it was, but he hopes it kills you! So Dobby drops him in the pot anyway and runs all the ways here to make sure that Harry Potter is safe." At this, Dobby's tears spilled over and he trembled, as if resisting the urge to run his head against the nearest wall. "But Harry Potter is alive! Dobby was not needed but he is ever so glad that Harry Potter is alive!"

He broke off and began to wail. Dumbly, Harry offered the sobbing house-elf a handkerchief. "You can keep it," he said hastily when Dobby handed it back.

"Dobby must return to the kitchens now and tend to Kreacher's burns," he squeaked, clutching the soiled piece of cloth as if it was a sock. "Farewell, Harry Potter! Farewell!"

Then the house elf was gone with an expectant_crack_. Harry stared at the space where Dobby had been. What was Dobby talking about? He had not...

---

"You!"

The library doors were thrown open with a force that Madame Pince (had she been present) would have had another nervous breakdown. Edward Elric swiveled around as the enraged Boy-Who-Lived stormed up to the front desk, subtlety be damned.

"Yes?"

"You-you-" Harry glanced around and though there was no one in sight, lowered his voice into a hiss. "You drugged me!"

"Of course I did," Edward said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he returned his attention to_The Lesser-Known But Fascinating Obscurity of Time-Manipulation_ while gesticulating nonchalantly toward the NO TALKING sign dancing overhead. "You poked around in my head without my consent and now I have returned the favor."

"It wasn't intentional on my part!" Harry very nearly shouted.

"Of course not, I suppose your face just fell into the pensieve."

Harry was only dimly aware of how foolish he must've looked at that very moment: speechless, fist clenched, scarlet-faced, with his jaw scraping the ground. Only after a breath was he able to collect himself and ask "Why?"

"I only needed to know one thing from you, Harry Potter," Edward said, finally setting his book down. "And I am not naive enough to think that people will be truthful when it comes to their own integrity."

He had a point. The fury died a small amount, but what remained screamed justice for his wounded pride. Plus, the whole eye-for-an-eye deal was entirely inappropriate for a grown-up. Edward took his silence as another question and answered it without prompt.

"The serum renders the drinker to be 'incapable of telling lies'—quite different from telling truths, mind you—and it only lasted for as long as I kept eye contact."

Harry digested this new information. Then, again, he asked: "Why did you have to know how honest I was?"

At last, Edward seemed unsure of himself. "I do not know if I can tell you at this moment, because I am also uncertain."

"That's not good enough."

"That's all I have right now."

"But if you're right, my trustworthiness will come into play?"

"If I am right."

Harry sighed in frustration. This did not feel like the usual situation where he could find answers through sheer force of will. And the desire to sink his fist into Edward's face had not yet lessened to a secure degree.

"Alright then," Harry conceded, taking a step back just in case. "Just tell me one thing." Edward blinked. "Who was he? That boy in your memory who…"

Edward visibly stiffened and reached for his book. Harry turned to go and it wasn't until he had a hand on the doors that he heard Edward's reply.

"He was my brother."

---

That evening, perhaps feeling slightly vindictive from the events of that afternoon, Harry finally related the contents of Edward's pensieve to Ron and Hermione in their huddle beside the Gryffindor fire.

"...and then he said that that boy was his brother." Harry finished. "What do you make of that?"

"His_brother_?" Ron asked with a raised brow.

"Oh yes," Hermione said, nodding conversationally, "I believe his name was Alfons."

Their heads snapped in her direction. "He told you?!"

"Of course he told me," she said, taken aback. "I'm in the library all the time. Just because he doesn't talk a lot doesn't mean he's unsociable. Hagrid told us about his brother and I asked him to elaborate, that's all."

"What else did he tell you?" Ron inquired.

"What else did you tell him?" Harry corrected grimly.

"I didn't tell him anything about you, if that's what you're worried about," said Hermione. "We talked mostly about the history of Hogwarts—he was fascinated by Nearly-Headless Nick. When I mentioned Alfons, all he said was that they were orphaned at a young age and, in his own words, they were foolish and conceited children. And that if his mechanic (who he assures me is a lovely, charming girl) ever saw him in the state he's in, she'd personally rearrange his facial features."

"That would make sense," Harry reasoned. "If they were as foolish and worldly as he said, then they might've cast a spell that resulted in the loss of their limbs. Maybe they tried to apparate and splinched."

"But Harry, there are no spells that…as you said, would make a giant door rip apart the body of another," Hermione said, though she did not appear very confident in her assessment. "And if they were as young as you said they were, they would've received some sort of reprieve from the Ministry for underage use of magic."

"Well, the Ministry didn't send a warning to me when I magically ended up on the school roof."

"Yours was unintentional. From what you've said, theirs wasn't." Then, as if it suddenly occurred to her: "And if two children-- orphans-- were found in a bloody room with limbs missing, it should've made the news somewhere. Muggle news, even, if not the Prophet."

"What about his mechanic?" Ron interjected. "Maybe she patched him up before anyone found out."

"But a cover-up like that by children is unlikely." Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. "I'll check for old Prophet clippings. Maybe my parents can owl me some muggle newspapers from over ten years ago."

"Your parents collect old muggle newspapers too?" Ron asked.

"No, but I bet they clean the teeth of someone who does."

---

_You are not incorrect.  
- Hohenheim_

Ed glanced over the message for the umpteenth and final time before feeding it to the candlelight.

He sat, long after the parchment turned to ash, long after the candle died away of its own accord, face buried in his hands.

---

The work was, as per usual, easier said than done. Even Ron, who began with the most enthusiasm ("they've invented glasses small enough to fit in your eye?"), was eventually reduced to a dictionary representation of lethargy. Hedwig's nips and livid glares increased with ferocity each time she flew unsteadily in with a new bundle. They lasted an amazing three days (four, for Ron) and then ultimately threw their hands up and admitted defeat.

"Why don't you just ask him?" Ron asked dazedly, still suffering from the effects of going through a year's worth of news.

He gave his pigeon-turned-teacup a poke and the handle promptly clamped down on his finger ("OW!").

"Or," Ron continued, nursing his finger, "at least find out why he hasn't been around."

Harry glanced toward the rear of the room. Edward's seat had been unoccupied since the previous week and he had not been sighted in the library either. Lavender and Parvati looked positively frazzled.

"That would be intrusive."

Ron shrugged. "It's never stopped you in the past."

---

And so here he was again, outside Edward Elric's door with no way in. He tried the hand-clapping thing, but immediately withdrew when nothing happened, embarrassed. He tried tapping where the handle would've been with his wand an _Alohomora_--nothing. He tried transfiguring a handle out of the wood—no result. Then, he had an epiphany.

He raised his fist to the wood and knocked.

The door slid open and there stood Edward, looking far less composed than the last time Harry saw him: sleeves rolled up, collar loosened, and hair disheveled. He looked surprised.

"Can I help you?"

Harry had not thought of what he would actually say. "Just…just wondering if you were alright," he said lamely.

"Yes, I'm fine." Edward appeared to be distracted. "Anything else? If you do not mind, I am in the middle of something rather important."

When Harry did not respond, he made a movement to shut the door.

"Does my trustworthiness still matter?" Harry blurted out quickly.

Edward stopped, and slid the door back open. "Come in," he said at last.

It was like stepping into an asylum. Sheets and sheets of parchment covered in schizophrenic writing littered the floor to where not a square inch of tile was showing. On each page, there were notes scribbled in a language Harry could not decipher and diagrams that made no sense.

"Sorry about the mess," Edward said, brushing past him and sitting down beside a particularly large pile. "And your trustworthiness might still matter because I am unable to 'rule you out'."

"I don't understand."

Edward sighed and looked away. "Let us just say that I am…neither of the wizarding nor the muggle world. You might have guessed that already; it does not matter. I am trying to return to my home and I think you might be factor in, but I have no proof yet."

"Why me?"

"You are to be…the center of an extraordinary event that will occur in your world," Edward said, making flicking motions with his wrists, but so deep in thought it was almost comical. Harry thought of the Prophesy and his insides clenched. "Until that event occurs, I am not allowed to return. At least, that is my theory, and for now, that's all I have."

"Where…what is your world?"

"I cannot tell you. It is the way I operate; I cannot tell you anything more without you giving me something in return first."

"I thought you said you had nothing but theories."

"It is still a theory, but I cannot risk sacrificing any more than I have."

"Well I…I don't have anything to tell you."

"Then I cannot tell you anything—for now. But…"

Edward locked eyes with him and Harry felt that same sinking feeling from before. _But I didn't eat anything this time…_

"Would you help me, Harry Potter?"

"…yes."

T . B . C

Long time no see, everyone!! I am so sorry for the incredible amount of time it took for me to finally update. Reality caught up with me and by the time I returned to finish this chapter...well, it's been a while. So again, I apologize for my lateness.

Now, I know that Book 7 has been published since my last update (which came out shortly after Book 6). I will continue to try and integrate the events of the canon into the story, but if I happen to stray (the absence of Umbridge, Snape remaining Potions Master, etc), please allow me some leniency.Any other questions, I will answer via review reply and PM's are now open too.

Thank you all again for your support and patience!!


	10. At the End of a Tunnel

**Fandom:** Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter**  
Title:** Endless Moment**  
Part**: 10**  
Genre**: General/Drama**  
Rating**: PG**  
Warning**: Crossover**  
Spoilers**: All of FMA; All of HP**  
Summary**: Sequel to **'Mr Elric'**

**Chapter 10: At the End of a Tunnel**

Ed closed the door behind Harry Potter and ran his fingers through his hair before turning and sighing, almost disdainfully, at the mess he'd made. That would hold the Boy Who Lived at bay, even temporarily. Good to know that despite the legendary buzz, Harry Potter could still fall victim to his emotions.

He straightened his collar, jotted down a quick note for the house elves to burn every last scrap of paper, and strolled down a crowd-unfriendly path to have tea with Hagrid.

---

"All he said was that your 'trustworthiness' was important?" Hermione asked skeptically. "Sounds awfully basic."

Ron glanced at her in surprise. "I thought you were his biggest fan," he said, almost snidely.

Hermione's expression was acid. "I think you have me mistaken with the poor, simpering M.E.S.S.-ed girls who have all but given up on life after not seeing Mr. Elric for an entire week."

She made no effort to keep the volume of her voice low, and from across the room, Parvati and Lavender took a brief respite from their state of self-pity to flip a few birds in Hermione's direction.

Ron bristled and Hermione glared and Harry blinked.

"I can't believe you're still writing to him--"

"--I can't believe you still _care_ about it!"

"Well, _yeah_, he's from _Durmstrang_ isn't he?"

"Oh, not this again--I'm _not_ getting into an argument with you over this again!!" Hermione all but shouted as she got to her feet. "I'm not going to defend myself in this _inane_ and _pointless_...He's a _friend_, Ron!!"

Hermione stomped off to the girl's dormitory and Ron threw his back against the couch.

"Read one of her letters by accident," he mumbled, more to himself than to Harry, "thought maybe her mum sent her more clippings."

Harry patted Ron on the shoulder sympathetically, and refrained from questioning Ron's ability to distinguish the difference in bulk between a stack of newspapers and a sheet of parchment.

---

"Ye' don't look like you've been eatin' enough," Hagrid rumbled disapprovingly as shoveled food onto Ed's plate.

Ed smiled faintly. "I've been busy. No thanks," he added quickly when Hagrid tried to sneak some of his homemade Jelly Slugs in. In spite of the other man's insistence that his were 'just like the ones at Honeydukes', Ed could not foresee any outcome which did not have him in bodily pain.

...they were still _twitching_.

Hagrid gave him a look of dejection that would've been more effective if Al—…if he hadn't already developed an immunity to such an expression. From Alphonse. Both of them.

Sensing the subtle change in the atmosphere, Hagrid (Good ol' Hagrid) quickly busied himself with the kettle. "So…eh, how's yer researchin' an' all that comin' along?"

Ed glanced toward the fireplace. "I think I found the key."

"Tha's nice." Hagrid said conversationally. "Eat."

Obediently, Ed raised a fork to his mouth and for a few moments, there was silence.

"I've always wanted to know," he finally said, chewing thoughtfully, "what does the Hogwarts Gamekeeper do?"

"Oh…not that much, really," Hagrid said, swelling with pride despite his words. "The Forbidden Forest mostly keeps itself. It'sa beautiful place, y'know."

"The books say differently."

"The books say a lot'a things; I'm sure you've read 'em all, but jus' because it's written in a book, don't mean it's true."

Edward blinked.

"Take the forests for example," Hagrid continued. "M'sure every book says it's dangerous an' that there's loads'a wild animals runnin' around jus' waitin' to jump out at'cha, an' that it's an evil, terrible place. Well, me, I've lived right here all my life. Been in an' out of the forest a whole lot too. It's not harmless, but it's not a pit o' despair either. Jus' takes someone ta listen to it, y'know?"

It took Ed a moment to realize that his mouth was open.

"I've been hearin' a lot about yer from Harry and Ron and Hermione," Hagrid chuckled. "I listen to ye' talk about what you've read an' I don't think I've ever told ye' that I thought you were goin' about your fact-findin' the wrong way."

Ed looked down into his lap where his hands rested: one flesh and bone, one metallic and cold. He clenched them. To put heart and soul out in the open and experience things in first-person rather than from behind the safety of aged sheets of parchment was a risk he didn't think he could take again.

He had been frightened after the Gate had deposited him in a war-torn Germany with no lifeline but an estranged father. He'd been cautious. The last time he chanced everything and put his life on the line…was when he offered his soul for Alphonse's.

Ed inhaled sharply.

"I think I get it," he said, rising. "Thanks for the meal."

"Yer welcome," Hagrid said, grinning broadly. "Ye' come back here anytime the house elves aren't feedin' ye'."

Edward gave him a half grin and took a step out the door. But he didn't leave. There was something else. "Hagrid…" he began slowly. "Why—"

"Dumbledore told me I could trust ye'," Hagrid interrupted. "Tha's all I need ta know."

---

"He's back!!"

The words were vocalized with a mindful consideration for their professor's temper and an unmistakable amount of glee. Hermione, being the naturally responsive type, snapped her head in the direction of the voices and unfortunately the speed of her turn was detected by Ron, who looked pointedly in the other direction.

"You're both being idiots," Harry said under his breath as McGonagall rapped her desk for attention.

"You can tell Ron," Hermione said, looking determinedly forward, "that all Viktor did was send a Valentine, it didn't _mean_ anything and that if only he could get over his inferiority complex—"

"And you can tell Hermione," Ron retorted without missing a beat, "that the whole world would be better off if she stopped making eyes at every hunk of meat that comes along—"

"I don't make eyes at anyone!!"

"Well, you certainly don't make them at me!"

Hermione's jaw dropped, Harry's eyebrows jumped into his hairline, and a moment later, Ron realized what he'd said and turned the color of his hair.

McGonagall prattled on in the front of the classroom, absentmindedly turning a frog into a rat, into a spider (Ron flinched), and back to a frog. All the while, Ron looked to the door, Hermione at the window, and Harry at the ceiling, wishing he wasn't sitting where he was.

---

"I'm surprised to see you in my classroom, Edward," McGonagall said, almost effortless in her sweeping presence. "How is everything?"

Ed contemplated his answer carefully before he spoke. "I know what I need to do," he said slowly. "I don't know if I can."

McGonagall squeezed his shoulder understandingly. "You'll find a way."

It was difficult, Ed reflected as he exited the classroom, transforming from an observer into a participant. In a classroom setting, he was in no position to speak. In a social setting, he was in no position to interact with anyone. As he walked down the corridors of Hogwarts, he couldn't help but feel extremely out of place.

His home, the last world he'd been thrown into, and Hogwarts were never supposed to mix in this way.

His feet came to a stop in front of a stone gargoyle. He straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath.

"Why Edward, what a surprise," Dumbledore said jovially as the door closed from behind him. "I certainly wasn't expecting you just now. Have a seat. What can I do for you?"

"I need to speak with you," he replied. "I know you've taken a few liberties with my pensieve; that's no longer a concern of mine. You have a reputation for wisdom, and I would like some perspective."

"Firstly, I beg your pardon for my intrusion," Dumbledore said pleasantly with a twinkle in his eye. "I fault my uncontainable curiosity. Secondly, any inquiry you have I shall answer the best my—as you say it—wisdom can offer."

Ed nodded his thanks. "I'm from a universe unparallel with Hogwarts and the muggle world," he began. "In my world, alchemists are not powerful sorcerers. We are scientists who operate under a law of equivalent exchange. I broke that law and the consequences were severe. I spent all my life searching for a way to rectify that mistake and it led me into places and situations I couldn't ever have imagined.

At one point, I was willing to trade my existence for someone else's. At the end of that, somehow, I appeared in Munich, Germany, in the year of 1921. My theory was that, since I fell from the heavens the first time I came to this world, that somewhere beyond the sky was a portal to my world. I joined a program researching rockets so I could build one that would take me back to my world."

Dumbledore's eyes were steely.

"I spent years in that program," Ed said quietly. "We were halted by economic turmoil, political strife, and war. I was an old man by the time everything came into fruition."

Dumbledore lurched forward in his seat. "Then what?" he pressed. "What happened?"

"...I don't remember," Ed finally admitted. "There was a rocket. Something happened with it. And the next thing I know, I'm a teenager again and I have no knowledge of the specifics of the rocket program or what happened in the years in between, only that I felt like I'd just woken up from a deep sleep."

"And then you came to Hogwarts," Dumbledore finished, reclining once again. "Extraordinary, Edward. Truly extraordinary."

"I have a theory," Ed said, bringing his hands together. "The gate demands a little part of you every time you pass through it—a toll charge, you see. The first time, the cost was split, so there was less effect. The second time, I gave up my knowledge of science and physics, but it wasn't enough to send me home, but not too little for nothing to happen. That's why it sent me here. I can get something from Hogwarts valued high enough to pay the cost to go home. Whatever it is, it cannot be attained from books."

"It is always challenging when the question itself is not straightforward," Dumbledore looked over the edge of his half-moon spectacles. "You think it has something to do with Harry Potter."

Ed did not break eye contact. "All signs point to yes."

The headmaster sighed and suddenly looked as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

"I won't interfere," he said at long last. "But I will ask you if there's anything I can do."

Ed pondered the offer carefully before shaking his head, no. "I thank you for you offer," he said, "but there is something else, a feeling I cannot shake...Instinct, Headmaster, tells me that I shouldn't be here. I don't belong in this timeline, and by being here, I'm interfering with the natural events that are supposed to occur."

"Ah, the age-old debate between free will and fate. I prefer to think that we are in charge of our own destiny, Edward."

"I used to think that way too, Headmaster," Ed replied. "Now I know better. I will take opportunities if they arise, but only if opportunities arise."

"Very well," Dumbledore said. From behind him a deformed bird poked its head out from a pile of ashes. "If you do require assistance, all you need do is ask, and I will try to help you while I still can."

By the time Ed understood the odd phrasing of Dumbledore's statement, it was too late.

---

"Oh, Harry, give it a rest," Hermione said as they raced up the stairwell to the Gryffindor Tower.

"She's right, mate," Ron echoed cheerily, clapping Harry on the back. "No sense in dwelling over words; just take life as it comes, right?"

The two of them had made up in spectacular fashion sometime in between Potions and dinner. Harry had no idea how, but he suspected it had something to do with the fact that they hadn't been all that mad at each other to begin with.

"I just want some answers," Harry grumbled as they neared the Fat Lady. "Is that so much to ask—?"

"Oh, Harry! Harry Potter!!"

_No_, he mouthed in chagrin to Ron and Hermione, who sniggered at Harry's expense.

"What is it?" he asked irritably as Colin Creevey dashed up to him, breathless in excitement.

"I just came from Professor Dumbledore's office," Colin said, blissfully ignorant of Harry's exasperation. "He asked me to give you this."

"Oh, well—thanks, Colin," Harry said, thoroughly taken aback as Colin pushed the slip of parchment into his hand, beamed, and disappeared through the portrait hole ("Garden Gnome!").

"What's it say?" Ron asked peering over Harry's shoulder.

"It says I should go see him whenever I'm available," Harry read. "Well, I've got two hours until Filch starts prowling around. Guess I'll go see him right now."

"No, Harry, what about your Potions essay?" Hermione asked reproachfully. "You've only got five centimeters on it so far; you need twelve!"

"I'll write it when I get back," Harry promised, already starting back down the stairs. "Besides, this is way more important."

He ran the entire way to Dumbledore's office, nearly tripping over his own two feet in his excitement. It'd been a while since their last session. The gargoyle wasn't in its perch so he just walked on in.

"Good evening, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said warmly, "I have something to show you."

T . B . C

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